


I Think (Of Crows and Dead Friends)

by Festively_Plump



Category: South Park
Genre: Crows, Death, M/M, Obsession, and i do like this poetic style that doesnt deserve the title poetry, has always interested me, the legend that when a star falls its a person dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Festively_Plump/pseuds/Festively_Plump
Summary: The rending cawOf a dozen crowsMakes Kyle smile widerAnd Cartman laugh louderAnd soon they are engulfedBy the first happy momentIn four years.----Or, in which Kyle is engulfed in the obsessive flames of dead Kenny's memory, and spends the nights laying on the roof of his not friend's apartment complex.





	I Think (Of Crows and Dead Friends)

“I think,”  
Kyle sniffs,  
A soft sound  
That is heavy.  
“I think  
we shouldn’t have survived.” 

Cartman,  
In all his pudgy glory,  
Lays not a foot from him.  
He doesn’t have a reply,  
So he smiles  
With crooked teeth.  
“Yeah,”  
Is what he says  
As he turns to look  
At the profile of Kyle's face  
Which is  
Staring at the  
Innumerable stars above them.  
“Maybe.” 

The roof  
(A cold place with  
Grey-brown tiles  
And an unforgiving drop  
To the snowy,  
But dense,  
Ground below)  
Is cold that night.  
The stars blister  
And fizzle  
And fall.  
Kyle mumbles  
He wishes he was a star  
So he could fall  
And people would call it  
A miracle. 

Cartman  
(Again)  
Doesn’t know  
What to say  
So to fill the void  
“You’re a fag.”  
Escapes his lips.  
The words,  
Which are already clunky,  
Fall like abandoned walls  
On an abandoned house.  
But it makes Kyle snicker  
And that makes Cartman  
Smile his crooked smile. 

Kyle sits up  
Shoulders heavy  
With the weight of his world  
And the heavens  
And all the stars.  
He says,  
“We can change.”  
A glimmer,  
A spark,  
A fleeting drip,  
Of hope.  
And with the words  
Of his fat  
Non-friend  
The shimmer  
Is gone.  
“No.” 

Kyle  
Whose red hair  
Lights up the space  
Brighter than the moon  
And the stars  
And Cartman's lusting eyes  
Stands up  
And says  
“What will we do,”  
A step  
Towards the edge of the building  
Twenty  
Thirty  
Stories high.  
“When we can walk no longer?” 

Cartman  
In all his pudgy glory  
Hasn’t moved.  
He lays,  
Half on his side  
Half on his back  
Watching Kyle  
Inch away from him.  
He wants to say  
Get back  
What are you doing  
But age-old hatred,  
Unexplainable but omnipresent,  
Prevents his lips  
From forming concerned words.  
Instead, he whispers  
“Keep going.” 

A sigh  
Heavy  
But painfully soft  
So it takes an age  
To hit the pudgy boy’s ears.  
“Do you think,”  
Kyle finally turns and faces him  
His face is gaunt  
Life is gone from green eyes  
Who now sit  
Half-lidded  
In sunken skull like sockets.  
His lips are thin  
Like paper  
But rough with edges  
That don’t belong on lips  
So pink.  
“Kenny will come back this time?” 

Cartman touches the flap  
Of skin that rests  
Above his heart.  
He tries not to think  
Of his  
Not friend’s  
Failing mental health. 

He tries not to think  
That Kenny  
Has been dead  
Four years.  
Longer than any time before. 

He tries not to think  
That Kenny  
Was the star he saw Fall  
that December night. 

He tries not to think  
That today  
Marks another day  
Kenny isn’t home. 

So he says,  
“Maybe.  
He probably likes it  
In hell  
Where at least  
It’s warm.”  
He laughs  
But Kyles silence cuts him short. 

Kyles red hair  
Falls in loops  
Over his dead green eyes.  
“Maybe.”  
He recites  
The word  
That has had too much use.  
“Maybe.”  
And red curls turn.  
They walk  
Quietly  
With loud, echoing steps  
Down the stairs  
Into the crunching snow  
And away  
From where his  
Not friend  
Still lies.  
—--  
The next night  
Sits the same.  
It’s clunky  
And quiet  
A great elephant  
In a tiny room.  
Cartman  
(Who lives in the building they’re laying on)  
Has watched  
His red-headed  
Not friend  
Whisper quietly.  
His ears  
Inept at listening  
Catch nothing  
But the sound of a crow  
Singing a wretched song. 

Cartman says,  
When Kyles' lips stop moving,  
To listen to the crow.  
So Kyle stops  
And opens his eyes  
And says  
“I’ve heard this song before.” 

The tune grows  
And a crow flies  
Close overhead. 

Cartman  
Watches as it lands  
Within a few feet  
Of his red-headed  
Not friend. 

The bird  
Whoa eyes are blue  
As a midday sky  
Sings quietly  
Eerily human  
And walks  
And pecks  
His way to Kyle.  
When the bird reaches  
Within grabbing distance  
He stops his song.  
Kyle  
Who has been watching  
And listening  
To the grey-blue crow  
Picks up the song  
Hauntingly humming  
The unsettling notes. 

When he’s done  
And the last note spills  
Ungracefully formed  
From his chapped pink lips.  
He says  
“I know that bird,”  
And faces his  
Not friend.  
“It was Kenny.” 

Cartman  
Who had given up arguing four years ago  
Just frowns  
And calls his  
Not friend  
A dirty Jew. 

His not friend  
With red hair  
And dead green eyes  
Leaves.  
And Cartman lies  
By himself  
With no crow  
Nor no star  
To keep him company.  
——  
The not friend  
Is crying this night.  
Cartman  
Who has never spoken  
A kind word  
In all his days of living  
Says nothing  
But his presence  
As mournful  
As dissonant  
As it may be  
Comforts his sobbing  
Not friend. 

They lie  
For what feels like hours  
Until snow drifts  
And Cartman suggest  
Going inside. 

His not friend  
Is still  
Letting tears leak  
From his  
Death soaked eyes. 

He says  
The snow will stop  
And,  
Like a prophet’s  
surefire word,  
The snow soon ceases. 

The not friend  
Cries and sobs  
And Cartman  
Who’s pudgy fingers  
Play with the hem  
Of his designer  
Overcoat in silence,  
Licks his  
Crooked teeth 

He cannot  
Think of a comforting word  
So his thoughts  
Roll to the  
Familiar crows song. 

He realizes  
the crow  
is back  
And watches  
It’s sleek Black  
Ominous body  
Land within  
Killing distance  
Of his not friend. 

The not friend  
At the sound of the  
Unnerving roll of notes  
Stops his crying  
And reaches to touch the bird. 

The crow  
Who’s eyes are still  
A familiar sky blue  
Squawks and flies away. 

Cartman thinks  
As Kyle sits up  
And presses the  
Sleeves of his  
Button up collared shirt  
To his dead green eyes  
That the bird is familiar. 

He thinks  
The bird is of hell  
A messenger  
From a familiar friend.  
And for the first time  
In four years  
He laughs  
Loud.  
Cacophonous.  
A raucous sound  
That makes Kyle  
His not friend  
Laugh, too. 

Cartman says  
“That bird  
Knows us.”  
And Kyles face  
Is torn apart  
By a smile. 

The rending caw  
Of a dozen crows  
Makes Kyle smile wider  
And Cartman laugh louder  
And soon they are engulfed  
By the first happy moment  
In four years.  
——  
Cartman  
Who has always  
Had a particular hatred  
For his Jewish  
Not friend  
Sits with  
The aforementioned boy  
On the roof  
Of his ample apartment complex. 

He works  
On a busy street  
Trading stocks.  
His coworkers are charmed  
As he is charming  
But beneath the  
Sparkling exterior  
Lays a poor  
Abused  
Terrified boy. 

The only time  
He feels like himself  
Is with the boy  
He hates  
So  
So  
So  
Much. 

Then why would  
This boy  
He hates  
Make him feel  
Normal? 

Kyle is a teacher  
Who works  
Only a few blocks away  
From the busy street  
His not friend  
Spends his days on. 

He helps seventeen  
And eighteen  
Year old children  
With work  
In the dingy  
Dusty  
Library  
With books read  
Not even once. 

He spends the time  
That children aren’t asking help  
Reading the tumble-down books  
And marking  
Down lines  
He thinks most poetic. 

He asked his boss  
A wrinkly woman  
Who has seen  
More than she’ll ever let on  
To take a book  
Unread  
Home.  
The woman  
Who smiles only for  
Her young assistant  
Nods her head  
Saying yes  
In her way. 

So Kyle  
With greedy hands  
And gluttonous eyes  
Chews the book  
Quietly on the roof.  
As Cartman watches  
He flips the pages  
Like an Edacious animal  
Eating the carcass  
Of its first kill. 

He says  
Quietly  
So only Cartman  
And not the moon  
Nor the stars  
Can hear  
That the book is of crows  
Harbingers of doom  
Sent by Satan himself. 

He says the crows  
Also came to  
Particular people  
To beckon them  
To use their  
“Second sight.” 

The second sight  
Says Kyle,  
Who’s fingers shake with  
A deranged sort of  
Excitement,  
Is of  
A psychic sense. 

Cartman recites  
Kyles old lines  
Of not believing  
Psychics existed  
And tuts his tongue 

Kyle continues,  
Brain disregarding his  
Not friends fitting words,  
And says  
Crows were also  
Messengers of the dead  
Bringing news. 

He says  
The crows seek the people out  
And when they find them  
They sing their tune  
A tune  
Only the person would know. 

Kyle shakes  
And releases his breathe  
Eyes closed  
Lips twitch with a smile. 

“Kenny,”  
The whisper  
Travels slowly to  
His not friends ears. 

And Cartman repeats  
The yellowed word.  
“Do you think  
He’s talking with us?”  
The question  
Is heavy  
And tilted  
And shakes on the roof  
Of the plush apartment complex. 

Kyle  
Who’s brain is full  
Of sleek and black crows  
Thumbs through the  
Dingy pages  
Of the unread book  
And says only,  
“Who else?”  
——  
“I believe  
Everything has a place.”  
Is the first thing  
That Is said  
The next night  
They waste together.  
“Everything belongs,”  
White arms  
Stuck up  
And trace the stars.  
Dead green eyes  
Flick from star  
To star  
As bony fingers  
Outline shapes.  
“Except Kenny.” 

Cartman grunts,  
Rolling to his side  
To watch Kyle's hands  
Wave in the air.  
“Kenny has no place.”  
He says.  
Cartman's brawny body  
Fights to find  
A comfortable place to lay  
As Kyles melodic  
Words fill the air.  
Years of giving pointless  
Speeches have paid off  
And his voice  
Has a cadence  
That rings like  
Nothing cartman's heard before. 

He is  
An unwilling captive  
To Kyles mellifluous  
Up and down  
Of words. 

“Kenny is extrinsic.  
He fails  
To find his place  
As he has none.  
You and I,  
We have spots  
Like alcoves  
Dug into a wall  
That we fit  
Soundly into.  
Kenny wanders  
And combs  
And pries  
For his nook  
In our wall.  
But no such hole was made  
For such a man as he.  
So I believe  
Satan finally took  
Pity on him  
And took him Back  
to his home.” 

Kyle drops his arms with a thud  
Punctuating his  
Winding speech  
With a dull thud. 

Cartman,  
With another grunt,  
Turns away from his  
Not friend  
And the rest  
Of the night  
Is silent. 

Kyle leaves first,  
Citing an early  
Wake up call  
As his grounds.  
He tells his  
Not friend  
To not freeze to death  
Which, Cartman thinks  
Once the red hair  
Had left, is the nicest thing  
He’s ever head  
Kyle say to him.  
——  
For a week  
No one is on the roof.  
Cartman goes twice  
And finds no one.  
He quickly leaves  
Back to his warm Apartment  
And realized how  
Truly cold that roof was  
Without the warm  
Red hair next to him. 

Though they were never truly cordial  
Cartman wonders where  
His red-headed  
Not friend  
Is. 

He calls his not friend  
Once  
Then twice  
Then, suddenly, fifteen times. 

He gets  
The toneless  
Voicemail  
So many times  
He has it memorized. 

Eventually, he goes  
To his not friend’s  
Place of work.  
He asks  
“Have you seen Kyle?”  
And is answered  
With concerned shakes of heads. 

When he gets back in his car  
He notices how  
Disheveled he looks.  
A thought  
Small in size,  
Similar to a roach,  
Emerges, and he questions  
If he’s concerned  
For his Jewish not friend.  
The thought,  
Like a roach,  
Is squashed  
Before it can make  
It’s scuttling move. 

He breathes  
And gets back out  
Of his plush car,  
Desperate for any news  
Of his not friend. 

When he walks back in  
The receptionist eyes him  
Warily  
Leery of the strange and  
Disheveled man.  
She repeats that the  
Dead eyed man  
Had not been at work for  
Three days. 

A stroke of luck  
When Kyles withering boss  
Stalks up to the desk  
And asks the pudgy man  
His business. 

He repeats  
And a look of concern  
Flashes across her weathered face.  
She says  
“I have not heard  
Nor seen of him  
In two days.  
He told me  
The third day ago  
That he was going  
On a mission  
And would be back soon.” 

Cartman must have looked  
Horror-stricken,  
For she grasped his arm  
And said  
In a steady voice  
“Young man,  
Are you okay?” 

Cartman, shaking  
Slightly, replied,  
“I know  
Where he went.”  
The woman is silent  
As if saying  
To go on. 

“My not friend,”  
Cartman begins,  
“I think he is sick.  
Sick up here.”  
And he pokes at his head  
With a pudgy finger.  
The woman’s grip loosens  
And she says  
Quietly  
“I know.”  
“He’s been obsessed,”  
Cartman's eyes glaze  
A bit  
As he looks beyond the woman  
And towards the hallway  
Where curious students gather.  
“With his dead friend  
So much  
He loses sleep  
And has stopped talking  
Like he used  
To do so much.  
He doesn’t eat  
Nearly enough  
And tells me  
All he wants  
Is to see his friend again.”  
Cartman watches students pile up,  
Just within  
The distance  
They can hear what he says.  
“He is obsessed  
And says  
The crows are  
Satans messengers  
Telling him  
The secrets of the dead.  
A new book  
has sent him  
So far  
Over the edge.  
He loves the crows  
And listens  
To their songs  
Every night.” 

The woman,  
Who stares at him  
A strangely knowing look  
Pasted on her face.  
“I was afraid of that,” 

A phone ring  
Sudden  
And sharp  
Cuts the air  
Like a knife. 

A photo of Kyle  
Flipping of the camera  
Blinks at him.  
He realizes  
Kyle is calling him  
And his face twists into a smile.  
He listens quietly  
As a voice  
That is not Kyle  
Says  
“Is this Eric Cartman?” 

Cartman replies,  
“Maybe.  
Who are you?” 

“Doctor Smith  
At the regional hospital.  
Are you Eric Cartman?” 

Cartman pauses  
Before he says  
“Yes.” 

“You were in  
Kyle Broflovski’s  
Emergency contacts.  
We’re calling you  
To let you know  
Your friend is okay.”

Before he can  
Fully grasp  
The joyous words  
He says  
With a sharp tongue,  
“He’s not my friend.” 

Silence sits on the line  
Before the doctor says,  
“Well, he is here at the hospital.  
We would like  
You to come  
And talk with us.  
None of his family  
Is available.  
You’re the only other contact  
On his phone  
Besides a  
“Mr. McCormick”  
Who has a dead number.” 

Cartman hangs up  
And looks at the woman  
And says  
“He’s in the hospital.”  
Faintly, a murmur  
Spills from  
The crowd of students  
Standing off  
In the dusty hall.  
Before any response is made  
Cartman leaves  
And drives  
Twenty three minutes  
To see his  
Not friend  
in the hospital. 

When he walks into his  
Not friends  
Hospital room,  
It’s quiet.  
Painfully so.  
Kyle is looking out the window  
The sky is grey  
And belches snow.  
He says nothing  
For four minutes  
Until finally  
His head turns  
A grin etched onto his bruised face  
And all that spills  
From his chapped pink lips  
Like black tar  
“Kenny is coming back.”

**Author's Note:**

> a poem I've stitched together.  
> Inspired by @cocoacremeandgays, who writes lovely sp stuff. I recommend a look-see at her works.
> 
> Comment your favorite epithet, if you'd like. I would appreciate knowing : )


End file.
